


divine intervention

by bigyikesdude



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Damen is a sweetheart, M/M, Sort Of, auguste is back from the dead, he isnt really dead, laurent is going to be crowned, mentions of the regent nastiness, some gore but only if you squint, the major character death is auguste but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigyikesdude/pseuds/bigyikesdude
Summary: Auguste falls to the sword in Marlas.Auguste awakes to find that his killer has his eyes set on his little brother. He determines that the gods must have brought him back for a reason.or: the rise and the fall of auguste de vere. not necessarily in that order.





	1. one.

Auguste could remember the first time he saw Laurent.

He'd been a little more than twelve at the time, just beginning to move from childhood into adolescence. He remembered hearing the crying before he even walked into the room, remembered tugging on his father's arm, and remembered his father laughing and saying, "Don't worry, everything's fine, son. All babies cry when they are born." He'd continued forward with the new confidence that this was normal, nothing was wrong, and nothing bad was going to happen. His mother was fine, his brother was fine, he was fine. He felt a stab of pride- his mother was too strong to succumb to the pain of childbirth.

Auguste's strength came from his father, but his resilience was all his mother's.

His mother had smiled at him through the sweat and strain. She couldn't stop smiling after that. There was blood on the sheets, but neither she nor his father seemed concerned. She nodded for Auguste to approach her bedside, and he had wearily. He looked into his mother's arms to see the baby. "His name is Laurent," His mother told her. His father placed a heavy hand on Auguste's shoulder. He was smiling, too. A rare sight as of late.

"Do you want to hold him?" She asked him gently. She shifted over in the bed to allow him the room to climb up and sit beside her. Auguste sat up on the bed with one side pressed up against his mother and held his hands out while she set Laurent into his arms. He thought he might never have seen something so tiny. He looked at the baby and thought that no, it was impossible for something like this to grow into the size of a man. This baby, his baby brother, would be a baby forever.

A tiny hand wrapped around Auguste's pointer finger in an iron grip. Auguste was smiling, too. The baby stopped crying after a minute or so and slept in Auguste's arms with his too-small hand still wrapped around Auguste's finger.

Auguste vowed he would never let any harm come to him.

* * *

 

Auguste could remember the last time he saw Laurent, too.

Laurent was decidedly not a baby forever. He'd grown five inches in the last year alone. He was a very different boy from the child he'd held in the physician's rooms thirteen years ago. He was quick as a whip and had a tongue like a dagger, and on top of his smarts, he was starting to hold his own when he and Auguste sparred. Auguste had let him win the first few times, but that only upset him, so he'd quickly stopped going easy on the child.

Auguste was more proud of his brother than he had been of anything else in his entire life. Laurent knew that.

"You shouldn't go." Laurent had told him. Auguste could hear how he was fighting off tears.

"I have to," He said anyway, "it's my job. You have to stay here and guard the camp, okay? That's your job."

It wasn't a job, and they both knew it. The Akielon army would have to break through the entire ranks to reach the camps, and even if they did, Laurent would be taken far from the battlegrounds before anyone was able to reach him.

Auguste stooped down to his brother's level, took his hands, and said, "I'll be back tonight. I promise. This is not goodbye."

He'd been wrong.

Just a few hours later, he was on his back, only partially aware of the blood and guts that were slowly seeping out of him through his fingertips. He stared up at the quickly darkening sky. He could still hear the sounds of battle around him. Were they winning? It was impossible to know. The sounds of his army and his enemies were indistinguishable. They were just men after all.

The light was dimming.

Auguste thought of the light. The light in Laurent's eyes, the light in his hair, the light in his smiles.

He thought of Laurent as the light tunneled and slowly, eventually, mercifully went out.

* * *

 

He thought of Laurent as he woke up, too.

The sun was just starting to peek over the tops of the trees as Auguste dragged himself to his feet. The scene around him was green and flowering and beautiful. The grass came up past his ankles, and fruit was ripening in some of the trees. He walked towards the top of the hill to survey his surroundings. The area was unfamiliar and foreign to him. He had no memory of being there or how he got there. The last thing he could think of when he scanned his memory Damianos' sword. It had entered him in the side and spilled his blood and his entrails on the dirt. The dirt that was far from the soft grass under his feet now.

It didn't matter how he got there, he decided. He could only think of getting back to Laurent.

He was still wearing his armor, but it was heavy and hot in the morning sun. He decided that, should the hills prove to be empty, he would remove it.

 _I must be dead_ , was the explanation he could come up with, _Damianos must have killed me on that battlefield_.

Laurent must be angry with him. Tricky Laurent, his Laurent. This must have destroyed him, so soon after losing their mother, no less. He had to find Laurent.

Walking was a slow process. His joints creaked and ached, but he made it up the hill. There was no one in sight, so he stripped off his breastplate and his chain mail and set them on the ground beside him. The armor would be replaceable.

The hills dipped and curved at odd, familiar angles. He could see it now, the pattern of them. The trees obstructed much of the view, and it was hard to determine which direction would most quickly lead him to a town where he could find a horse. He checked his shirt and pant pockets for any money he might have had on him. There was a small pouch woven into the waistband of his pants with a couple coins inside. It would have to do. He decisively began walking in the direction he hoped to be north- perhaps the money would get him to Arles.

The sun was beyond its peak and beginning to set by the time Auguste found a road. He walked along its path until he was well on his way along one of the mountain trails. He recognized this one from somewhere in the back of his mind. Perhaps one of Laurent's history books with the big maps that took up two pages. He missed Laurent.

The road was smooth with frequent use. A merchants trail, most likely. If he was lucky enough, he could find himself a ride into the city.

When he stopped, he looked out over the field where he had awoken. It was beautiful. The slopes of the hills were more defined from afar. He could see every bend and dip and ridge and peak.

He could have recognized Marlas anywhere.

Months had been spent in his chambers, in the council, in his tent studying these grounds, learning their every quirk. He could name the hills. He could map out his troops' route through the land where the trees had grown. But that was impossible. Marlas had been little more than a dirty pit when he'd been there. Yet in his mind, he could replace the gentle grass and the lovely flowers with the bloodied soil and carcasses. It was without a doubt the same land.

He must be dead.

He kept walking. He walked until his feet hurt and his bones ached and he'd developed a headache from dehydration. If that wasn't enough, he cut his hand on the ragged wall of cliffs beside him, and red blood seeped through the wound.

So he was alive, then.

Time must have passed since the battle. Enough time for trees to be planted and grass to grow. Perhaps not too much time, though, perhaps just enough for skilled gardeners to make the sight of his death beautiful again. He wracked his brain for any remembrance of stories of the dead coming back to the living. He thought back to the fables he read to Laurent before bed, the stories their father told over dinner, and the history lessons that Laurent rambled on about. He could remember nothing of the undead.

The gods were toying with him, he thought. They had something planned for him.

Something must have gone wrong for him to be pulled from the underworld for this. Surely the gods needed him to do something important for them, or they would not have resurrected him. Why couldn't he remember being dead? What had happened to him after Damianos' sword?

Night was nearly halfway through when a horse drew a wagon alongside Auguste.

"Are you alright?" The man inside asked.

Auguste shook his head, "I'm having trouble remembering what happened to me. I need to get to town."

The man nodded, and the wagon slowed for him to get inside. "We're not too far now," The man told him, "I've got some water if you'd like. May I ask what you're doing out here by yourself? Were you attacked?"

 _Yes_ , he thought bitterly.

"I'm not sure."

The man raised an eyebrow, but did not question it further, "My name is Nikandros. We're passing through town on our way to Arles, we can drop you off." He nodded to the driver.

Auguste noticed then, after he heard the name, that the man was Akelion. The man hid his accent well, but the features and the clothing were indicative enough. Had Auguste not been so confused and the night not so dark, he would have seen it sooner.

"What business have you in Arles?" He asked cautiously. Surely his father would not be extending an olive branch now, so soon after the war.

"The Coronation, of course." Nikandros answered. If he noticed any hostility, he simply did not care, "He'll be coming of age in two days."

 _Laurent_.

That would make him twenty, nearly twenty-one.

_Eight years._

A lot could happen in such an amount of time.

For Laurent to be crowned, their father must have stepped down from the throne. That was unlikely, though, because Laurent didn't even want the crown, so their father had no reason to give it up. Auguste's twenty-first birthday had come and gone with no coronation. For Laurent to be crowned on the very day of his twenty-first birthday, it must be that something horrible has happened to their father prohibiting him from ruling any longer.

Their father must be dead.

"King Laurent?" Auguste tested the words on his tongue. They sounded well together, but he knew how Laurent would feel about ruling. He'd never been intended to rule, he'd never wanted it, either. Auguste thought of him now, alone in the court. Alone except for their uncle, which was a new concern that Auguste didn't quite have the strength to consider at the time.

"Yes," Nikandros said near-dismissively, "the boy-king has quite a bit of potential, but don't tell anyone I think so. He has the support of much of my country. Damianos-exalted has taken quite the liking to him. Won't shut up about how they're going to be married one day."

Auguste's blood ran cold.

"Damianos?" Was all he could think to say.

Nikandros laughed at the tone of disbelief, "I said the same thing when I heard of his plans to unify our nations. He's star-crossed, I'm afraid. There was no talking him out of it from the start. It's alright, though. Crown Prince Laurent is smart. Damianos-exalted is strong. Our countries might not collapse just yet." He said 'might' with a bit of humor to it, like he was making a joke. Auguste did not laugh.

"You said star-crossed?"

Nikandros gave a nonchalant shrug, "Maybe not the most accurate word, but I can't think of a better one at the time. Damianos hardly speaks of anything but Laurent anymore. Nothing that should ever be repeated, I'm afraid. Dirty mouth on that one."

Auguste could not bear to think too hard on that, so he just said,"You speak like you know him personally." His heart was racing in his chest.

"I do," Nikandros replied casually, "and I've heard many drunken rambles about what he is going to do to the soon-king of Vere. He wants to marry him. He says it will cement the alliance, but that's just his justification to the court."

Auguste saw red.

Against his better instinct, he thought of his baby brother facing his killer, of Laurent, his Laurent, being coerced into bed with the barbarian under the false promise of bringing peace at last. Damianos would not bring peace- he didn't know how. He and his people only knew war. Laurent would be a hostage to the marriage, kept locked away for Damianos' pleasure, while Akielos seized control of Vere. Laurent's clever tongue would not be able to talk its way out of the clutches of the prince-killer.

Laurent would know all of this, but Laurent would also agree to the marriage if he thought it would keep his people safe from the harm of war, Auguste knew.

The gods were not toying with him, he decided, they brought him here, along the path of this specific man on purpose. This was the reason they brought him back to life.

Auguste straightened his back. He had a new mission.

He had to save Laurent.

He had to kill Damianos.


	2. Chapter 2

Auguste washed up in the community baths in town. A fine layer of dirt had gathered over his skin from walking the previous day.

He checked his body as he cleaned himself. His arms, his chest, his legs. Nowhere could he see any evidence of decay. He could still feel phantom pains of Damianos' sword piercing his midsection and splitting his skin and opening his blood vessels and ruining his organs. But when he trailed his fingers along the spot where the sword had been, there wasn't even a scratch. It was like the battle had never happened.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed to focus. Laurent, his Laurent was in danger.

Auguste still hated the idea of Akielons infiltrating his court the next morning, but Nikandros was starting to grow on him. Partially because, after Auguste was finished washing, Nikandros was waiting for him outside with the wagon and an offer to take him all the way to Arles.

"How did you know that's where I'm going?" Auguste asked.

Nikandros shrugged, "Your ring. Veretian royal seal. I figure you must be going to visit Prince Laurent."

He'd recognized it quickly. So quickly that Auguste had to assume he'd seen it up close, most likely on the finger of his little brother.

Auguste nodded. A part of him was surprised that an Akielon would be astute enough to even look at the pattern on his signet ring, but he decided not to comment on it and instead said, "I'm a distant cousin of the Prince. You'll have to excuse my appearance at the moment, though."

Nikandros nodded, "Already done."

"And you?" Auguste asked as he and Nikandros made their way back to the wagon, "A friend of Damianos-exalted? You must be a-"

"A kyros," Nikandros said with a nod, "but the two of us practically grew up together."

"So you've seen him with my cousin, then?" Auguste asked. He hoped the conversation remained casual, but he intended to dig as much information on Damianos as he could out of the kyros.

"A few times," Nikandros shrugged as he admitted, "Prince Laurent and I do not always get along. He's got a tongue like a dagger, you know?"

"I've been on the receiving end of it, yes."

Nikandros laughed, "As have I. Little snake, that one. Some of the things he says are absolutely venomous. He's smart, though, and clever." Nikandros looked at Auguste, thought for a moment, then added, "Don't tell him I said that."

"I wouldn't dare." Auguste joked.

He wondered briefly how this had happened so quickly- joking and poking fun with an enemy. He had to stay focused. Laurent was in danger.

"We'll arrive early tomorrow morning, before the ceremony, so you'll have plenty of time to change before we need to meet the new king." Nikandros told him as they piled into his wagon. Nikandros shifted a small stack of boxes out of the way, and Auguste took notice of them for the first time.

"What's that?"

Nikandros pointed to the larger box on the bottom, "A gift for the new king. I figure it's in good taste. I call it a peace offering, but do not under any circumstances tell him that I said that."

Auguste smiled.

Nikandros gestured to the smaller box at the top of the stack and said with a dismissive gesture, "That's for Damianos-exalted. He asked me to bring it."

"What is it?" Auguste asked. He told himself not to panic, that he had no idea what was in the box, and that it was most likely harmless. The box was relatively small, surely it could not do that much damage. Unless it was a vial of poison. But no, Akielons didn't fight how the Veretian court did. It was more likely to be a short knife or, Auguste could not help but think, an aphrodisiac.

Nikandros just shrugged the question off, "He didn't say. Probably  nothing important."

Auguste eyed the box carefully as they rode out of town. Silently, he vowed to make certain Damianos never got the chance to give whatever was in that hell-box to Laurent.  

* * *

  
  


Laurent woke to the sun already in his face. He buried his head into the pillow and lifted the sheets over his head, earning a chuckle from the shape beside him in bed. Laurent peeked out from under the silk and let a dopey smile spread over his face. Damen was always so captivating like this, with his dark skin against the light sheets and the sun casting its light at just the right angle for rays to be snagged along the ridges of his chest, his dimples, and his curls.

"Sleep, my love, there's nothing more you can do before tomorrow," Damen's voice was smooth, which indicated that he had been awake for a while now.

The thought of tomorrow made him sit up straight, despite this being the opposite of Damen's intention. Damen immediately countered by running his hands through Laurent's hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Laurent shoved him lightly.

"I'm going to be sick," He murmured as he buried his head in his hands.

Damen sat straighter. Laurent could hear him shifting around in the sheets.

"You're going to be fine," Damen told him, rubbing circles into his bare back, "You're already running the courts as it is, what difference does the title make? The entire kingdom already recognizes you as the king."

Laurent shot him an accusatory look, "Title makes an enormous difference. You know that."

Damen did.

"Nikandros will be riding in early tomorrow morning," Damen told him, "He says the whole thing will likely be pretentious and stupid, but he's looking forward to seeing you."

"He didn't say the last part."

"No, he didn't," Damen laughed.

"He's right. The ceremony is going to be huge and ridiculous and pointless," Laurent groaned his annoyance, "I'm only doing it because everyone's been telling me that I have to. If I had it my way, it would be a quiet affair and no one would come to watch."

Damen was quiet for a moment, then spoke gently, "I understand if this is a difficult time for you. Surely it stirs bad memories, and I do not wish to-"

"Shut up," Laurent replied without malice, "It's not... it's not that. Not totally."

Laurent had long since come to terms with the fact that he would be taking his brother's crown. He'd been telling himself to be ready for it since he was thirteen, and now that the day was near, he was still caught unprepared. There were too many variables he hadn't been able to predict at the time- his uncle, his assassination attempts, his time at the border, _Damianos_. 

"Do you want to talk about it, love?" Damen's voice was low, like they were passing secrets. Laurent looked at him, and the golden rays of the sun outlined his dark curls like a halo, like he was some kind of sun god. Damen would be a good sun god, Laurent thought offhandedly, he'd rule gently from the sky and smile down at the people below and give them the most beautiful sunrises they could imagine. Laurent would blame the sun for his inability to fend off Damen at the moment.

"It was never supposed to be my crown," Laurent replied simply, "and taking it feels wrong."

It felt more than wrong, but he wouldn't say that. It felt like a violation of something sacred. 

"I know. I can imagine what you must be experiencing right now. I'm sorry." Damen told him. His hand was moving to brush Laurent's stray curl out of his eyes, and Laurent allowed the touch.

"It's not you," He replied shortly. There was no point in discussing what had happened on the battlefield any longer. Laurent had managed to put it in the back of his mind, and there was little point to dragging it to the forefront again. Laurent continued carefully, "You know I love you."

Damen smiled at the uncertainty in his voice and the concern on his face. He pressed a kiss to Laurent's forehead and replied, "I love you, too."

"I wish things were different," Laurent said flatly, though his cheeks were flushed red, "I wish you and I could just find a little cottage on the water for a weekend. I wish it didn't have to be like this."

A year ago, he would have laughed at himself for saying something so sappy, but this was a different time. Perhaps he'd let his guard down a bit too much. He'd be king soon, and he couldn't afford to sound as if he had a silly childhood crush. 

"I'll take you to every beach in our country once the unification is done." Damen told him, smiling. Damen was always smiling. He never seemed to mind when Laurent let himself sound like a lovesick fool, even when Laurent was disgusted by his own words. 

Laurent didn't say anything to that. He knew it would be a long process, fist convincing the courts and the nobles, then the citizens that this was a good idea, that peace was even a possibility. That would perhaps be the worst of it- convincing the people that the men they'd so recently been at war with were now their fellow countrymen and neighbors.There would be leftover hostilities even after everything was done legally. It would be a long time before they saw any beaches.

Damen's hand was still on Laurent's face when he asked, "How can I make it better?"

Laurent's lips quirked into a smile.

"Distract me."

Damen did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all youre support!!! everyone has been super nice so far, & i love you all! btw i updated the tags bc im probably going to be mentioning the regent/implied csa in future chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

Damen nearly snapped his quill in half when Laurent came into the chambers again.

His blond curls were neatly styled on his head, and his clothes were hanging onto his body loosely. Damen's eyes followed the curve of Laurent's uncovered collarbone up to his long neck and sharp jaw. He glanced over to Damen and said, "The laces in the back-"

"Of course," Damen got up from his desk as quickly as he could and moved behind Laurent, his thick fingers fumbling with the laces. He kissed the bit of exposed skin on Laurent's neck as he pulled absently on the laces. Somehow, he could not quite find the strength to focus on his movements and instead let his fingers work separately from his mind. He thought of how it felt, kissing the soft skin of Laurent's shoulders, and how Laurent's curls smelled like his usual soaps, proving that even despite how supernaturally pretty he looked right now, he was still Laurent, Damen's Laurent.  

"Lace it  _up_ , Damianos," Laurent's voice had a playful edge to it.

"Sorry," Damen replied with a laugh. He pulled himself from his thoughts and tightened the laces, "You look incredible. Like an angel." He pressed his face into Laurent's neck and kissed along his jaw, "You're the most ethereal, beautiful-"

"Damen," Laurent laughed, drawing away from him, "you'll wrinkle it."

Damen held him at an arms length to look over the ivory Coronation outfit. Tiny gold threads detailed the fabric in intricate patterns. His cheekbones were decorated with flakes of gold, and his sleeves ended a bit shorter than usual- a few inches above his wrists to show off the wide gold cuff. On his fingers were gold rings, most notably the signet ring carrying his official seal. He was still wearing his circlet, which Damen knew was the mark of a prince, but Laurent had already explained to him that in Vere, a large part of the ceremony was the exchanging of the circlet for the crown. At the time, Damen had thought it was a ridiculous and unnecessary aspect of a ceremony that already had too many excessive components, but now, seeing Laurent wearing the circlet for the last time, he could understand the sentiment. 

"It's exquisite. Artfully done," Damen mused, brushing his fingers across the delicate stitches. Laurent arched an eyebrow, and the gold flakes on his skin glistened in the light.

"I didn't think you were much into art."

"This is an exception," Damen smiled, "because it is on you."

"You're awful sentimental today, love."

Damen laughed, "It is a big day for all of us. For you, and for both of our countries."

Laurent huffed a breath before saying, "You know it won't be easy. There are still separatists. Some are loyal to my lineage, some to yours, but they cannot see past the bloodshed. How can I... how can we possibly convince them that the war and the casualties were all in vain?"

"Not in vain," Damen shook his head and pressed a quick kiss to Laurent's cheek, "The war showed us all how bad it can be when we are at odds with each other. No one is desperate to relive the events of the past."

Laurent appeared content with the answer, though Damen thought he might just not want to speak on the matter anymore. Instead, he looked down at his arms and watched the gold of the threads catch the light as he moved. He looked up at Damen and said, "You don't think this is too much? Nikandros will call it ridiculous. Perhaps it would be better to go with something simpler in support of the unification."

"Laurent, my love," Damen cupped his face, "Nik is none of your concern. I like it. You're keeping it on until I take it off you tonight."

Laurent shoved him playfully, "Is that all you've been thinking about this whole time?"

"Perhaps, your Majesty."

Laurent's smile wobbled at the mention of his new title. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"I should finish getting ready," His voice was softer now.

"I'll be with you through the entire thing," Damen replied, brushing his fingers across Laurent's hair gently so as not to mess them up, "Anything you need. I know today might be hard for you. I'll help any way I can."

Laurent smiled again.

* * *

Damen hated having so many people in the palace at once. It was too hard to see what was going on and where everyone was. Every few seconds he found himself scanning the crowd and searching for Laurent's golden hair, just to be sure everything was still alright.

Laurent didn't seem to mind the people, but then again, Laurent didn't show much of what he was feeling. His face was still and nearly calm, and if Damen didn't know him better, he might have believed that he was feeling fine. His posture was straight and his face relaxed, but not quite enough to be believable. His shoulders were tensed and he was wringing hands together, and Damen could see his eyes darting across the room.

Damen wished for a moment that he could sweep Laurent back to the bedchamber and read one of his favorite books to him as night fell. The moonlight always made him look ethereal. Damen found himself imagining Laurent wrapped in the silk sheets with the new crown atop his golden curls, like the beautiful young king from one of the old Veretian fairytales.

The throne room was full of people rushing about to finish the last minute preparations. Flowers were being arranged, carpets laid, and gas lamps being lit. Laurent milled about, watching from a distance and absently brushing his fingertips across flower petals and tapestries. Damen stepped over to him and smoothly looped his arm around Laurent's waist.

"Are you alright?" Damen murmured.

"Of course."

Damen took Laurent's hand gently and kissed the knuckles. A smile spread across his face. He uttered a soft laugh and hid his face from the soldiers and servants. Laurent leaned into Damen's shoulder and pressed a butterfly-soft kiss against his collarbone.

"You're alright," Damen said, running his fingers through Laurent's hair in his best attempt to be soothing, "You're going to be great at this. You're the smartest person in the court. This is going to be a breeze for a mind like yours."

"You're too good to me."

Damen shook his head, "Impossible."

Laurent leaned his head against Damen's shoulder, "I wish it could be like this. Just you and me and nothing else."

Damen ran his fingers through Laurent's hair, careful not to ruin the careful neatness of it, "Perhaps it can be, for a little while. The ceremony will end at sundown, and you and I will be alone until early afternoon tomorrow."

"Early afternoon?" Laurent quirked his eyebrow as he said, "That's a bit ambitious to hope for."

"Yes," Damen nodded thoughtfully, "The staff will be busy taking down the decorations. It will likely take them quite a bit, and they will wait to start until the palace is completely cleared and the guards have gone off to their quarters. They'll likely wait to start cleaning until tomorrow morning. They'll be busy for a while. You and I will be busy in your chambers."

Laurent huffed a laugh and drew himself off of Damen's shoulder. The shoulder mourned the absence of Laurent's warmth.

"You've been awful subtle today," Laurent said, accusatory, "Maybe I want to go straight to sleep tonight."

Damen straightened Laurent's collar and said, "Then I will kiss you goodnight and sleep beside you."

Laurent was smiling foolishly now, and he knew it. He ducked his head down to hide the expression and shook his head. When he gathered his wits enough to look back at Damen, he said, "Perhaps sleep can wait."

They both jolted when an outside voice called for their attention.

"Your Majesty," A servant called, "I have a message from the duchess of Patras."

Laurent nodded and, after a quick smile to Damen, slipped away. Damen watched him leave, the gold sending bits of light across the room as he moved, until he disappeared into the hall. He felt the loss almost immediately, but he resumed walking about the room, making certain that everything looked as beautiful as Laurent did.

He thought for a moment about seeing Laurent in the crown for the first time. Damen had never seen the Veretian crown in person. Laurent refused to wear it before his Coronation, and Damen had been too young to visit the neighboring kingdom while times were still peaceful. He wasn't sure what he expected from it, but knowing the Veretians, it would be an extravagant display of sapphires and precious stones and gold. Laurent would hate wearing it, he knew, but it would make him look like a god.

After a few minutes passed, Damen grew bored of his imaginations of King Laurent. As much as he tried, his fantasies never quite held a candle to the real thing. 

The message from Patras must be long, Damen thought to himself, though he couldn't imagine what was so important that it could not wait until after the ceremony. 

Perhaps it was just his nerves over the ceremony, or maybe it was just that Damen hated being separated from Laurent longer than he needed, but Damen stepped into the hall to see what the hell was taking the messenger so long. 

Immediately, he realized they'd made a mistake. 

There was blood streaked across the marble floors- jarring red against the clean white. Gold was shining under the lighting of the hallway. Laurent was on the ground, his back pressed up against the wall. 

The servant, the messenger was standing over Laurent, who had his legs curled to strike like a viper before the kill. _Little snake_ , Damen barely had time to think.

Laurent's ivory clothes were stained with bright red. He had dragged himself across the floor to sit up against the wall and had his fingers wrapped lamely about the dagger sticking out of his gut.

Damen's face drained of color. His body acted without permission from his thoughts, but Damen didn't mind. It was mere seconds before he had his hands around Laurent's attacker's neck and  _twisted_. The man dropped heavily to the ground, and Laurent looked up at him as Damen knelt beside him. Damen couldn't find it in him to look at the body, much less care for what he'd done.

"Who was he?" He asked hurriedly.

"Separatist," Laurent replied softly. His movements were getting heavier and his voice softer. Damen cupped his head.

Damen allowed himself a moment of annoyance to think: _this is what I get for leaving him unattended for more than ten seconds._

"Stay awake," He instructed, surprising even himself with the steadiness of his voice, "You're going to be alright. Did he get you anywhere else? Did he hit you, or-"

"No," Laurent's voice was wobbling, "you got him. You got him before he could."

Damen dropped his hand down to the wound and opened Laurent's shirt to look at it. It was deep, but the placement was low. Damen had a more than basic knowledge of anatomy. His father had insisted he learn, in case it ever became necessary to treat battle wounds without the help of a medic. He could guess that the knife had missed the lungs and was lodged somewhere in or near the kidneys. Damen's hands were slick with blood by the time he wrapped his fingers about the hilt of the dagger.

"No, leave it!" Laurent shoved him back slightly, but his movements were already weakening, "It's keeping the blood in. Like a cork. Paschal can take it out when he's ready."

Damen released the dagger and nodded, "Alright. I'm going to have to move you, so can you-"

A firm kick from the side landed him flat on his back.

Damen scrambled to his feet and moved his hand instinctively to where his sword was typically placed, but he came up empty. He'd left his weapons in the bedchamber for the ceremony, not expecting to need them. Of all days to be unarmed, he cursed under his breath that it had to be this one.

The man in front of him was tall and had thick blond hair. He'd already drawn his sword for a fight and didn't seem to care that Damen was left unarmed.

"Get away from him," The man hissed, "Don't touch him."

"He needs a doctor-"

"I can fucking see that, now get the hell away from him," The man snapped, pressing the blade closer. Damen took a reluctant step back as the man dropped to a crouch beside Laurent and delicately brushed his knuckles across Laurent's cheek. His temper threatened to flare again, but the man had a sword and was crouching too close to Laurent for Damen to risk rushing into an attack. Laurent was shell-shocked and unmoving, but Damen thought that must be normal with all the blood loss.

"You're not real. This can't be real," Laurent was whispering barely audibly, "I'm dying. I'm hallucinating, and I'm dying."

Damen's gut twisted. 

"You're not going to die," The man promised. His gaze flicked up to Damen, then back to Laurent, "Stay with me, alright? I just have to take care of this, then we'll get you to a doctor."

"What does that mean?" Laurent's eyelids were drooping shut.

The look in the man's eyes was murderous as he told Damen, "You're going to regret ever laying a hand on him, you vile creature."

Damen looked at the man as he advanced- the honeyed color of his skin and hair, the sharpness of his eyes. He looked familiar. He looked a bit like Laurent, but Damen always thought that all Veretians did. No, this man was familiar for different reasons. This man was someone he'd met.

He wracked his brain for the image of the man. Tall, muscular, blond. He'd met several people like that on Laurent's guard, but this one did not have the presence of a common soldier. No, this man held himself like a noble. His grip on the sword was practiced, his stance was perfect, and the sword itself was of good quality steel. The hilt, partially covered by the man's thick hands, had bits of carvings peeking out where Damen could see them. He'd seen the sword before, too, somewhere. He tried to remember that instead, since he was drawing a blank on the man. 

A quick spared glance at Laurent had his heart racing again. Laurent's skin was milky-pale and his body slouched. Damen couldn't tell any longer if he was conscious or not. 

The man in front of him also spared a glance at Laurent, and Damen recognized the flash of panic in his eyes. This was enough to jog his memory. 

"Prince Auguste?"

Auguste swung his sword.


	4. Chapter 4

Nikandros said his goodbyes to Auguste once they reached Arles, but promised they would see each other at the Coronation. Auguste didn't have any formal clothes, so he stole a case from a passing wagon and changed in a restaurant bathroom. It fit too tight in the wrong places, but it would do. He kept his sword belt on.

He didn't have an invitation, but he was nearly certain he could get into the palace without anyone stopping him. He'd lived there all his life, and he'd snuck out more than a few times during his adolescence.

All the guards were concentrated at the front gates to watch the crowd. Sloppy, really. It left the backside of the palace with fewer guards than usual, and slipping past the proved to be a shockingly simple task. He wondered briefly who was in charge of Laurent's guard.

Auguste wasn't sure what he expected when he walked into the palace, but this certainly wasn't it.

He halls were beautifully decorated leading up to the throne room. He recognized the flowers- tiny white buds that his mother used to love. He smiled to himself as his passed them. Laurent was more sentimental than he liked to admit- he would have chosen the flowers himself specifically.

The smile slipped when he turned the corner.

Even at a distance, he could recognize his little brother. He was wearing ivory and gold, but it was quickly turning red.

Auguste couldn't think.

The figure kneeling over him still had his fingers around the hilt of the blade. Dark skin, black curls, firmly muscled arms. He knew the face well- it was the last face he saw.

Auguste kicked him to the side and dropped beside Laurent, giving him words of encouragement before standing and drawing his sword.

"You're going to regret ever touching him."

There was a flash of recognition among the confusion in Damianos' eyes, "Prince Auguste?"

Auguste swung in a low arch, which Damianos avoided in a surprised jolt of a movement. He held his hands out to stop Auguste, but quickly was forced to retreat as the sword came back in a jab.

"This is a misunderstanding," Damianos said quickly. Auguste grit his teeth. Leave it to a barbarian to call a stabbing a misunderstanding.

"This is a long time coming is what it is," Auguste snapped. The double-edged blade was razor sharp. It barely grazed Damianos' arm, but it drew a satisfying line of crimson along its path. Auguste pressed forward, "You were dead the moment you set your gaze on him, Akielon. You will pay for your crimes."

Behind him, Laurent's head was lolling. Auguste made the mental note that he would have to finish this more quickly.

The next swing of the blade was cruel and caught Damianos across the thigh. He staggered, and Auguste drew his blade back for the final blow,

"The gods have judged you," Auguste told him, "and they have sent me in their steed to see through your sentence."

"I didn't stab your brother," Damen pointed at the dead guard, "He did. I killed him."

"I don't believe you."

Laurent was coughing on blood. Auguste tightened his grip on the sword.

"Besides, you've done enough to warrant this several times over, even without attempted murder on the list. Raping my brother alone is quite enough to guarantee your head on a stake." Auguste could barely get the words out, his voice shook with anger.

Damianos' brow crinkled in confusion.

Auguste began to drive the blade home, but stopped abruptly when Laurent staggered into the way. He was hardly upright and had to put one hand against the wall to steady himself. Auguste could not fathom how he'd moved so quickly in his state. The tip of the sword had stopped an inch before his throat, but Laurent didn't seem to have the strength to pay it any mind. Auguste did not slack his grip on the hilt.

"Laurent," He spoke slowly, the way their father used to speak to them when they were in trouble, "get out of the way."

"You are misinformed," Laurent barely got the words out before collapsing.

Auguste heard the sword clatter to the marble floor as he instinctively jolted his arms out to catch his falling brother. He clutched Laurent carefully in his arms and used one hand to check for a pulse.

The sword lay on the ground between him and Damianos. Auguste looked from it to Damianos, realizing dreadfully that he'd inadvertently give Damianos the opportunity to kill them both in one fell swoop. Time seemed to stop, and Auguste became exceedingly aware of his own heartbeat and Laurent's shallow breath against his neck. He clutched his brother closer to his chest.

Damianos did not so much as look at the sword. He instead gestured for Auguste to stand.

Auguste hefted Laurent in his arms and picked him up off the ground. His head fell against Auguste's shoulder, and his limbs dangled limply as a rag doll.

"He's bleeding out," Damianos turned on his heel and began to lead the way to the physician's quarters. Auguste cast the sword a final look, then followed Damen down the hall.

"I understand," Auguste said finally as he matched pace with Damianos, "You Akieons are big on honor. You wish to resolve the matter in fair battle. I accept the challenge."

He remembered that Damianos had beaten him once before, but he pushed it out of his mind. Losing now would be an embarrassment for him and damnation for Laurent. He would just have to win, plain and simple.

"I do not wish to fight you in trial by combat, Prince Auguste," Damianos replied, "One battle was enough for us, I think. I will explain what's happened in the years since your absence once Laurent is cared for."

After a moment of hesitation, Damianos added, "But please let it be known that I have never violated your brother in such a way as you suggest."

Auguste wasn't sure whether or not to believe it, but he allowed himself to take comfort in the words. Of course it was likely that Damianos was lying, but Auguste heard the edge to his voice and chose to believe it was authentic.

Damianos pushed the door open for Auguste and let him pass through before closing it again. Auguste had been in the physicians quarters a handful of times for all sorts of reasons as a child. Scraped knees, shallow sword wounds from training, nasty bruising from falling off his horse. The room hadn't changed much in his absence. It was still a little too cramped as all the walls lined with shelves of various vials and bandages, and the majority of the standing room was taken up by the table at the center of the room. Auguste set Laurent down on this table.

Paschal had turned when he heard them enter, but he was frozen in his shock.

"Prince Auguste?"

Auguste shook his head, "Attend my brother. I will make an address explaining the situation later, when he is well."

The old man gave a sharp nod, then diverted all his attention to Laurent.

Damianos nodded when Auguste turned to him, "I'll explain everything from your absence to the best of my ability."

"Why should I trust you?"

Damianos raised his eyebrows, "I could have let Laurent bleed to death. Instead, I am here with you."

The answer came quickly and naturally, so Auguste accepted it for the moment. Then: "My father?"

Damianos' look became solemn, "A stray arrow at Marlas, same day as you."

Augustes gut clenched to think of Laurent, still thirteen and begging him not to leave, suddenly an orphan and an only child in the same day, left with no one but their uncle. Their uncle, who was always too cold and too distant and always looked at Laurent for a bit too long for Auguste's comfort. He had offered, the day before they left for war, to see after Laurent while August and their father were away, and Auguste had torn Laurent from his grasp and yelled at him for reasons even Auguste didn't quite understand. It was just a gut feeling, really.

"And you?" Auguste asked, putting the thought out of his mind for time being.

"It was your uncle and my half-brother's doing. They were conspiring against us- me and Laurent."

Auguste cast a look at his brother, whose face had aged to be graceful and sharp at the same time, and cursed himself for leaving him, cursed Damianos for taking them from each other. Still, he gathered his nerve and looked to Damianos.

"Go on." 

* * *

 

 

Damen alerted the guard to tell the crowd outside that the Coronation would be postponed for the time being, given unexpected circumstances. Surely the crowd would be annoyed, but it was necessary. 

Laurent did not stir for several hours, which gave Damen the time to explain his presence to Auguste. He spoke of the coup, the assassination attempts, the murder of his father, his and Laurent's travels to the border, Laurent killing his uncle and Kastor. Auguste was a decent audience, though he kept interrupting with questions.

"Why unify? Why not form an alliance instead?" Auguste had a feeling he knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Damianos.

"It was Laurent's idea. He knows the risk, but he says it will be more beneficial in the future and for the economy."

Auguste considered this. "Always thinking ten steps ahead, isn't he?" He mused. Damen smiled fondly.

"Laurent will be glad to see you. He does not trust easily. A familiar face will do him some good, even if the circumstances are... odd."

Auguste was silent for a moment, thinking this over, before he said, "He trusts you, doesn't he? He defended you from me."

Damen nodded, "He didn't always. He recognized me straight away, you know. No one but him did. Losing you nearly destroyed him, I think. It took us quite some time to put the past behind us. It was an avoidable war. I regret it more every time I hear him talk about you. He knows now that I never want to hurt him again."

Auguste thought about that.

"I spoke with a kyros of yours on the way here," He said slowly, "He told me of some of your conversations on the topic of my brother."

Damen's face paled, "Which kyros?"

"Nikandros."

_Goddamn it_ , Damen thought. Damen confided things in Nik that he didn't in anyone else- including several drunken rambles about the shape of Laurent's ass.

"It's my understanding that you have slept with my brother?"

Damen's heart was pounding. Auguste's gaze was hard, and Damen dropped the eye contact. He scrambled to think of something to say, eventually coming up with: "It was consensual."

"I should fucking hope so," Auguste replied with a sharp laugh. He regarded Damen for a second longer, then continued, "I trust his judgement more than my own. But with that said, I do expect you to prove yourself to be a good man before you will receive my blessing."

Damen smiled, and Auguste returned it.

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

Damen started. He replied, "I'm sorry I did kill you."

"I know," Auguste nodded wistfully, "perhaps if our fathers had spoken civilly like this, it would not have happened."

Paschal poked his head out of the physicians chambers, "His Majesty is awake. He's asking for you. Both of you."

Damen went in first, though he was followed closely by Auguste. Laurent was propped up on a stack of pillows, watching meticulously as they entered. Damen could feel his sharp eyes searching for details that might give him a clue of the situation he was in.

"You're back." Was all he said. His voice was far weaker that his gaze.

Auguste nodded, "I'm back, little brother."

"How?"

"I don't know. The gods."

Laurent didn't seem to buy it, but he nodded anyway, "I'm really glad." He voice broke off at the end.

Auguste rushed forward and scooped Laurent into a tight hug. Laurent buried his head into Auguste's neck. It was several moments before they broke off, and Auguste kissed Laurent's forehead. Laurent swiped away a stray tear as quickly as he could, which was not fast with his drugged body.

His eyes set on Damen.

"Everything is fine?" He asked.

Damen nodded, then took Laurent's hand and kissed the knuckles lightly, "We talked."

"Good." He looked up at his brother, then back at Damen and said, "Would you give us a minute?"

"Of course." Damen smiled warmly and slipped out of the room again.

Auguste sat beside Laurent and brushed his fingers through the blond curls. Laurent shook his head. 

"I don't understand. How is this possible?" 

Auguste replied, "I don't understand, either. As far as I know, it's never been done before. I'm glad, though, that I've been brought back to you. I never should have left you." 

Laurent's eyes softened, "Don't do that to yourself. It wasn't your fault. But don't blame Damianos, either. You would just as soon have done the same to him." 

"Look at you," A smile spread across Auguste's face, "so wise. I always knew you were going to be the one to bring peace at last." 

It was true. Auguste was too much of his father, too much of a warrior. His rule would have been peaceful while peace lasted, but he would not shy away from war. Laurent was too smart to start a war. He would know how to avoid and negotiate. Any war fought with him would be short. 

Laurent's eyes were drooping shut again as the medicine was still in his system. He leaned his head against his brother and said, "You'll like Damen. You're both idiot brutes," before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

 

Nikandros was, needless to say, surprised to hear that his traveling companion was the late prince of Vere, but Damen insisted that it was true. The two of them walked into Laurent's bedchambers together as they conversed, where Laurent had been set up neatly on the bed and Auguste was sitting beside him.

Nikandros bowed his head to the lot, "Prince Auguste. Had you told me of your identity, I'm sure I could have spared some confusion."

Auguste laughed, "I'm sure you could have, yes. No matter. Come sit."

The two boxes in his arms were set on the table beside the bed. Nikandros handed the small one to Damen, who thanked him and set it away on a shelf. The second one, he gestured toward Laurent.

"Happy Birthday."

Laurent looked surprised, then smiled, "How kind. I'm sure I'll hate it, but-"

"Perhaps, yes," Nikandros shrugged noncommittally, "I'll save you the trouble of opening it. It's a book. A collection of old Akielon folk stories. Damen mentioned that you wanted to learn of our fairytales, I thought it might be a good place to start. First edition."

Laurent was silent for a long moment.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asked, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I've come to know you quite well, you little snake," Nikandros said without venom, "I can manage one birthday gift just fine."

"You're so fucking weird."

Nikandros snorted, "Just say you like it. Why is that so difficult for you? Asshole."

Auguste's lips quirked in amusement. He hadn't seen Laurent having a sharp conversation with a friend in a long time. Come to think of it, he may never have seen Laurent the way he was acting now.

"Fine. I like it," Laurent spat, "but that may be because my expectations were very low."

"What, Damen didn't get you something special? No diamond earrings or whatever the fuck you Veretians like?"

"He was  _going_  to give me my gift tonight, but incidentally," Laurent gestured to his bandaged side, "Paschal told me I should refrain from strenuous activity for a good while."

The room went very quiet. Auguste was glaring daggers at Damen, Damen was suddenly very interested in a bird flying close to the window across the room, and Nikandros looked as if he was considering the pros and cons of killing Laurent on the spot.

"I wish you wouldn't speak sometimes." Nikandros finally said.

"Likewise." But Laurent was smiling and amused and happy, and Auguste found any perpetual anger dissipating. It was a smile that made Auguste think that maybe, given a bit of time to adjust, he  _might_ be able to find himself in favor of the unification after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all your sweet comments! hope you've liked this chapter :))


	5. epilogue

"What's this word?" Laurent pointed to a line in the folktale book.

Nikandros didn't look up from his own book as he said lazily, "And here I thought you knew how to read."

Laurent clicked his tongue, "You're the worst. I'll ask Damen."

"He and your brother are busy." Nikandros said dismissively.

It had been three months since Auguste had been crowned. Laurent had immediately felt relief, though he knew his role in the palace would remain mostly the same. He'd been appointed chief advisor the second Auguste took the crown.

Laurent huffed, "So just tell me what it means."

Nikandros groaned dramatically and turned to Laurent, then followed Laurent's finger to the word indicated. He frowned.

"It doesn't translate well." It was an old word, one that had gathered more and more meaning over the course of history. It often appeared in these folk stories, but Nikandros hadn't heard it spoken in a long time. Still, it was a word that every Akielon would understand without explanation. Vere did not have an equal phrase.

Laurent rolled his eyes, "Do your best."

"χρυσήεραστή." He said out loud. He noticed Laurent mouth the word silently, his lips struggling to put together the sounds. Nikandros continued, "Gold-lover. But not gold like the color, gold like money, like wealth. So, it means love that is extremely valuable. I don't know. It's an old term. It carries a lot of meaning, but it's hard to explain." Nikandros shrugged.

"Like a soulmate?"

Nikandros scoffed, "No. Wealth is built. Earned. The love in this sort of relationship must also be built. It's not immediate. It's cultivated."

Laurent read the word again. He thought of Damen. 

χρυσήεραστή. 

He decided he liked the word.

Nikandros returned to his seat and did not speak to Laurent again until the sun was dipping behind the trees. Laurent normally spent days like this draped over a couch in the library all alone, and he was grateful for the silent company, though he would never admit it. He was nearly through with the next story- a poetically written tale of an ancient warrior on path of revenge after the death of his lover, only to meet his own fate in the end- when Damen and Auguste returned from their meeting with the council. 

Laurent smiled up at Damen. His fingers absently traced over an illustration of the ancient warrior on the pages of the book. 

Damen nodded to Nikandros before sitting down beside Laurent and peering over his shoulder, "Still with the old war stories?" 

"I was under the impression they were folktales," Laurent raised a brow, "Is this one true?"

"No one knows." 

Laurent smiled. He could appreciate the added mystery, and he liked the thought that the ancient lovers were more than just a story. 

Nikandros and Auguste weren't paying attention to them, so Laurent continued, "I learned a new word." 

Damen's mind immediately went to curse words, but he decided Laurent already knew them all, so he asked, "Which one?" 

" χρυσήεραστή." His syllables were clumsy and accent strong around the unfamiliar sounds, but Damen recognized it immediately.

"Ah," He tilted his head in interest, "I haven't heard that one since I was a child." 

"Why? No reason to use it?" 

Damen smiled and let his fingers brush a stray curl out of Laurent's face, "Perhaps now I have one." 

Nikandros openly groaned behind him. 

Damen laughed as he leaned back and set his arm over his eyes, "Wake me when you're done, love." 

Aware of his brother's stare, Laurent bit back a smile and continued to read.

* * *

 

Auguste wanted nothing more than to just read the reports on his desk in peace, but Damen wouldn't stop pestering him.

"Laurent said you and I are annoying, can you believe that? He says we're too similar for our own good."

"He said that to me, too," Auguste replied. Over the past few months, he and Damen had developed a weird friendship. They sparred and laughed and drank and talked as if they had never once been enemies. Maybe they hadn't, Auguste thought, maybe that was just their fathers in them. After all, the war was a lifetime ago for him, and Damen had been so young at the time. Young even compared to Auguste, who was also considered young at the time. And both of them so old compared to Laurent, who had been hardly more than a child. Perhaps the past was a lifetime ago for all of them.

"He's glad we get along, though. I can tell."

Auguste agreed.

Damen took a small box from his pocket, which Auguste immediately recognized as the one from Nikandros. He eyed the box, then glanced up at Damen.

"Yes?"

Damen tapped the lid absently as he asked, "Do you think I'm a good man, Auguste?"

Auguste stared at him for a long while before nodding, "Yes."

"That's good," Damen nodded, "because you told me that I needed to prove myself as a good man before I could get your blessing."

Auguste narrowed his eyes and accusingly asked, "Damianos. What the hell is in that box?"

Damen flipped the lid open, and Auguste nearly threw it across the room.

"I considered taking my mother's. His fingers are so thin, I thought it might fit, but I decided to get this one made special."

The papers were abandoned on the desk.

"Damen-"

"You're his only family left," Damen said, "I thought it would be in good taste to ask you for his hand."

Auguste looked at the ring. It was beautiful, no question. It was decorated with tiny rubies and sapphires along the gold band, indicative of the unification. He just barely noticed the word inscribed on the inside of the band-  χρυσήεραστή .

"I had that part added after he went to bed last night," Damen said, brushing his finger across the words, "It means-" 

"I know what it means." It meant Damen was in love. That much was apparent. 

Auguste wondered how long Damen had been planning this. He thought of the secret smiles on his brother's face every time Damen was in the room. Laurent was in love too, it seemed.

"He does not need my permission," Auguste finally said.

"I know he doesn't," Damen nodded, "but I would like it. I'd like to know you're alright with it."

Auguste looked at the ring, then looked at Damen. He thought of his childhood vow to protect his brother from harm. He thought of Damianos on the battlefield with his sword flashing, and he thought of Damen with his big hands cupping Laurent's face as he pressed a kiss to his forehead and ran his fingers through blond curls like they were delicate workings of golden silk. He thought of Laurent, thirteen with tears in his eyes as he begged Auguste not to go, and Laurent, twenty, killing their vile uncle.

Laurent was a man now, capable of defending himself. Auguste knew this, but still, Laurent was his baby brother.

"You have to make a vow to protect him." Auguste said.

"I have," Damen replied, "but I'd gladly work it into our wedding vows."

 _Wedding_. It felt oddly wrong. Laurent was too young, too small, too fragile to be married. In Auguste's head, he was still a child. But Auguste shook these thoughts away. Laurent was no child. 

Auguste watched Damen for a moment longer, then heaved a long sigh. He was going to have to have words with Laurent later. 

"Fine," He said begrudgingly, "You have my blessing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much to everyone who stuck with me all the way through. your comments and kudos have meant the world to me :)) hope you enjoyed this last chapter
> 
> sidenote - yes, χρυσήεραστή is badly google translated and not a real word, dont come for me.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!!! thanks so much for reading this first chapter- i hope to put out the next one soon :) anyway all comments/kudos are much appreciated!


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